Genealogy - Native Interactions

 

   

Florida Beach with Tourist & Condos

Florida’s population has grown nearly five‑fold in my lifetime. In a state defined by newcomers, simply saying you’re a Florida native sets you apart. When I consider that my grandmother was a Florida native — born into a Florida that scarcely resembles the one we know today — that lineage places me in a very small circle indeed. I fully qualified for the "FLORIDA NATIVE" bumper sticker!

Now, in Florida we love tourists because they bring in tax revenue — which helps ensure we don’t pay a state income tax. But we’re often annoyed at the traffic they bring, and we certainly feel the loss of those miles and miles of open beaches and free parking we enjoyed before the population exploded.

I claim to be a native of Florida because my family has been here since the 1880s. Similarly, I claim to be a native American (with a lowercase "n") because a good portion of my family has been here since the founding of Jamestown and Plymouth. But, of course, there were natives here before that who were capitalizing, lamenting, and resisting our arrival.

Growth and change always create resistance and friction. The winners see the change coming and capitalize on it. The survivors adjust to it. The losers resist it. The same dynamic played out as the United States evolved from a vast open hunting reserve into a 21st‑century, multi‑cultural society of roughly 340 million people.

The Native Americans' first encounters with pesky tourists and interlopers came in the 1500s — beginning with Ponce de León in 1513, followed by Tristán de Luna y Arellano near Pensacola in 1559, and Pedro Menéndez de Avilés at St. Augustine in 1565. From that moment the encounters and friction increased.  As an American with long genealogical roots into its history, I have several ancestors that were both affected by the friction and contributors to that friction.

One of the earliest was Peter Montague. Peter arrived in Virginia in 1621, just months before the GoodFriday (1622) Powhatan Massacre, led by Opechancanough of the Powhatan Confederacy, and he survived that colony‑shaking attack as a young servant at the newly established plantations along the James River. His later life as a planter, burgess, and landowner unfolded in the long shadow of that event, which shaped the colony’s defensive posture, settlement patterns, and attitudes toward Native peoples for decades.

My earliest ancestor in the colonies with my surname, Francis McCown, was present at the 1742 Massacre of Balcony Downs, (aka Battle of Galudoghson) one of the earliest settler‑Indian confrontations on the Shenandoah–Augusta frontier. As an early settler of the Borden Tract, he experienced the tense early decades where Scotch‑Irish pioneers lived amid recurring conflict with Native groups.

Francis' son and my fourth great-grandfather, Malcolm McCown, was so affected by those events and especially the Kerr's Creek Massacre that he spent much of his energy in his early years fighting against Native Americans. In one such event he was one of the presumed perpetrators of the murder of Shawnee Chief Cornstalk.

A seventh great grandfather, James Caudy, was a frontiersman of the Cacapon Valley whose local legend centers on the Caudy’s Castle incident, where he is said to have fought off Native attackers by pushing them from a narrow ledge above the river. 

James Ward, who is thought to be one of my sixth great grandfathers, died at the Battle of Point Pleasant, where a clash between Native Americans and Virginia Militia erupted at the forks of the Kanawha and Ohio Rivers. Tragically, James' son, John had been captured by the Shawnee as a toddler and raised among them - so that day, he fought against his father, neither of them knowing this.

Other great grandfathers participated in actions against native populations as part of a State militia or US military.  A couple of these include Andrew Walker who engaged in actions against the Cherokee and Ephraim Bates who was engaged in the 1778 Brodhead-McIntosh expedition into Deleware Territory.

Our Nation handled the friction with the Native populations badly overall. The problems were fueled by ignorance, greed, and bad personal experiences on both sides of the battle lines. I suppose that can be said of any clash of cultures throughout history. 

 

Genealogy - A Crooked Crew

Crooked Little House built in 1395 

Lavenham, Suffolk, England

There was a crooked man, and he went a crooked mile,

He found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile;

He bought a crooked cat, which caught a crooked mouse,

And they all lived together in a little crooked house.

That little nursery rhyme was told to me as a child. The true origin of it is unknown, but at least one of the possible sources comes from the town of Lavenham, England.

I visited there once in the middle 1990s while in England on a work-related trip. The photos don't really capture the extent or prevalence of the leaning buildings - but there are several of them. So, how did they get that way?

It turns out they were in a hurry to build, because the town was growing very fast with a booming wool trade. Th economy took off in the region in the 14th and 15th Centuries. They used oak timbers for the structures. They filled between timbers using daub (clay, sand, straw, dung, and water). The timbers were green.  So, as everything dried over time, the entire structure bent and warped creating a comically crooked community.

I stumbled upon a memory of this event while reviewing some genealogy. 

I limit my personal genealogy work and research to the U.S. or the American Colonies after about 1700 - because I know how to navigate Court and Census Records with reasonable confidence. However, I have connected my researched ancestors to people others have researched and put on Wikitree. This has resulted in what I like to call "deep genealogy."

(It is important to note, though, the deeper in genealogy you go, the less confidence you have. Clerical errors, researchers' assumptions, and ancestral infidelity takes a toll on the accuracy.)

Nonetheless, because of this deep genealogy - I have discovered four ancestors that were living in Lavenham in the sixteenth century.  They would have seen the same leaning houses I was tilting my head.

Their names were: John Fuller and his wife, Elizabeth Cole.  John and Elizabeth came to Middlesex, Massachusetts before 1647 when their second child was born. 

John came to own over a thousand acres in the region of Newton, Massachusetts growing crops as well as supplying malt for the production of beer.

John and Elizabeth are theoretically my 8th Great Grandparents. They share that spot with 1,022 other 8th Great Grandparents. A few of whom are identified, but most of whom are a complete mystery to me. Others, like Catherine Brew (whose name also suggests some connection to Malt or Hops) appears as my 8th Great Grandparent twice. 

Knowing who these possible ancestors were, how and where they lived, and what they may have done can be fun. Experiencing a place they would have known gives the experience of the place some personal connection - even if the way I experience it is completely different than their experiences.

For more on John Fuller see:  https://johnfullerofnewton.com/

Driving all over the World

Trinidad Driver's License (1986)

I just returned from a trip to Ecuador.  I was there on a mission trip related to church work. I've been going there off and on since 2001.  It all started for me when a brother from the congregation I was attending was looking for people to accompany him to put on a youth camp there.  I had a passport. I had been on a mission trip once before, to Trinidad. I was active in church activities locally. I didn't speak Spanish and I had somehow gotten through High School and college without a foreign language. Anyway, the mission kept going and so did I - now traveling to a different part of the country.

Thinking about that reminded me of my trip to Trinidad in the 1980s. We had several go to do some follow up work on some correspondence style evangelism. It was my first exposure to a foreign country and frankly one of my first airplane rides. 

What I discovered as a young man is that not everyone thinks like me. I'm highly flexible - but when in charge, I'm rather detailed.  Well, the leader of this event decided to rent a bunch of cars so we could do the follow up. He hadn't done his homewor, so after two days of driving he discovered that the rental car company didn't care if we had valid driver's license or not.  That was between us and the law. So, we spent one morning at their equivalent of a DMV.

The leader decided to send us all through the lines to take the test since the test made no distinction between automobile drivers and commercial vehicle drivers. He figured if he kept paying for tests, he would eventually get enough drivers.  His bet paid off. I became one of the drivers.

That was my first experience driving in a place other than the Southern or Midwestern United States.

Since then, I have driven in cities all across the US including some of the larger and denser ones like, Miami, Orlando, New York, Boston, Atlanta, Baltimore, Washington D.C., Minneapolis, Dallas, Fort Worth, Houston, Albuquerque, Phoenix, Seatle, Los Angles, and San Francisco.  In Los Angles, one time, it was in a U-Haul (or Penske) pulling a trailer of High School Band equipment for their participation in the Tournament of Roses Parade.

I have also driven in other foreign countries since Trinidad. I've driven on the Autobahn in Germany. I've driven alone in Scotland - before GPS. I have driven in Ecuador and England - though not London.

In England, they must have seen Americans coming, because when my traveling companion requested an upgrade to handle the extra luggage we wound up with a fifteen-passenger van.  That is not the best choice for some of the back roads we had to travel on. This insured that I was the designated driver for everyone.

Thinking about driving I have noticed some cultural differences in driving in various places. In the US, except for large central city areas it is pedestrian beware! In Ecuador it is driver beware!  (See video starting at about 1:50). 

In the US we think in terms of Right of Way! In Scotland and England and to some extent in Ecuador they seem to think more often in terms of Give Way!  It is probably why Traffic Circles (or Roundabouts) seem to work better there. 

In Trinidad, at every traffic light where there are two lanes there would be four or five cars side by side waiting for the light.  

In the US a yellow light means to speed up so you don't get caught by the red light and a green light means (if you are first in line) proceed cautiously in case someone runs the red light.  In Ecuador there are countdowns letting you know the light is about to turn green and drivers often start moving on one or two - so don't you dare run a yellow light.

In the US we have bumper stickers that say, "BACK OFF!" or "If you can read this, you're too close!" In Ecuador, if you still have six centimeters you haven't hit anyone.

In the US passing on a two-lane road requires a mile of visibility and a prayer that the driver you pass doesn't speed up. In Ecuador, they pass on winding turns and if somebody comes from the other direction the vehicle being passed and the oncoming vehicle keep moving but slide to the outside edge and you drive between them.

Being anywhere it is important to know the culture. Driving anywhere is about knowing the driving culture. Next time you think someone is driving crazy - remember they may have just got back from driving in a whole nuther world.

Be careful out there!

 

Genealogical Treasures

1933 Seth Thomas Mantel Clock

I'm the oldest child and I married an oldest child.  My dad and my mom were oldest children. My wife was the daughter of an only boy (who had sisters) and an only child.  My dad's father was the last surviving child of two parents who "stayed home." As a result we have slowly become the curators of old family things.  Neither of us started out this way - but as time has passed the treasures filtered in. This is a story about some of those treasures and their original owners.

Back in December, I had a blog titled: Genealogy - Antebellum Ambrotypes. In that blog I talked about one of the treasures, an ambrotype, that may have been an ancestor of my wife. That one was a mystery.  Some of the others are also mysteries that are largely solved. 

Starting with one we know confidently is the 1933 Seth Thomas Mantel clock.  This clock belonged to my wife's grandparents, John and Mary Robinson.  They received or purchased it as they set up house in Nashville after they were married in August of 1933. It's an eight-day clock but now does require winding about every five or six days.

Keeping on the timekeeping theme we became the curators of several watches. Among them four pocket watches and two wristwatches which still operate. I usually wear the 1961 Elgin Sportsman that belonged to my father-in-law.  I occasionally wear the 1934 Hamilton Dixon that belonged to my grandfather, Ira Huckaby.

He had received the watch from a regular passenger, Anna Martz, while he was a taxi driver in Pensacola, FL.  She had helped him secure employment at Pensacola Naval Air Station and wanted him to have a nice watch to wear on the job. Sentimentally, he gifted to me when I started work after college. 

Of the four pocket watches two of them still keep great time and ironically, they are the oldest of the four. One is a 1911 Lady's Elgin time piece.  This one had belonged to my great-grandmother, Mary Ellen Wylie McCown. There is no special occasion that lines up with that date; however, her husband and my great-grandfather, Sylvester McCown, was spending a lot of time away from home in Louisiana working some logging operations between 1910 and 1915 (based upon 1910 Census data and Family Letters).

We don't have any correspondence that accompanied the gift, if indeed it was a gift from Sylvester to Mary Ellen, but an Appalachian style log cabin was engraved on the front surface of the watch case. Maybe this was to indicate a longing to be home with her.

The other fully functioning pocket watch is an 1879 American Watch Company (pre-cursor to Waltham) time piece.  The provenance on this one is not perfectly known but can be reasonably deduced. My dad gave the watch to me one Christmas about eight years ago. It was one of two "family heirlooms" that he was parting with.  (The other was an 1880's 38 caliber pistol that my brother received.) 

What dad knew about the watch was that his dad, Herbert, had only reported that it was his dad's (Sylvester) watch. However, this was a lady's watch! That meant the watch must have been his mother's or one of his grandmother's.

Sylvester's mother, Henrietta, is the most likely original owner of the watch. The 1879 manufacture date is closely aligned with her and her husband's (Monroe), 20th Wedding Anniversary in 1880. The watch didn't belong to his mother, because she had died in 1842 and his stepmother had living biological children. Similarly, Henrietta's mother died in the early 1840s and her stepmother also had living biological children. However, it is clear that Monroe and Henrietta took care of Henrietta's father's estate and her mother remained there until her death in 1888.  It is possible the watch belonged to her, but she would have received it at the age of 73 on no particular occasion. 

Among the other treasures are dishes, flatware (some silverplated but not Sterling), cameras (still and 8mm movie), nicknacks, coins (foreign and domestic), photos, letters, books, furniture and a jug. The last two have an interesting enough story to expand on in this blog.

Nashville Pottery Jug and our Farmhouse Chairs

We have a jug on our fireplace that was in the home of Tammy's mother.  I made a comment about how cool it was and suddenly it showed up at our house well over a decade ago. According to my mother-in-law it was her great-grandfather, Balum Robinson's, whiskey jug. That may be true, but it smells like it was used for several years as either a spittoon or as a used pipe tobacco receptacle. 

Then there are the six farmhouse chairs.  My wife's parents brought them to us when they downsized.  They couldn't get rid of them, but they didn't need or have room for them either. These had belonged to her dad's great aunt (Alma) and her husband (Jack). However, Jack was an only child and had obtained the furniture from his parents, Charles and Eugenia Gordon who had gotten them when they set up housekeeping after they married in 1901.

Here is something ironic. My father-in-law is the grandnephew of the original owner's daughter-in-law.  That makes me two in-law connections away coming into possession of these.  Except, because of Wikitree, and some genealogical sleuthing, I discovered the chairs belonged to second cousin I never knew I had. Eugenia and I share a great-grandfather (my fifth great-grandfather), Joseph Matthews, whose father, James, was a Revolutionary War soldier who participated in the Battle of Alamance.  

(You knew I was going to bring the topic back to the Revolutionary War didn't you!)

In the end, these objects remind me that family history isn’t just names and dates; it’s the quiet trail of things people loved, used, repaired, and passed down. I'll tell the stories. I'll be a steward of these treasures for a time. Perhaps these treasures will survive yet another generation or two with their stories intact. But at some point, if they survive, someone else will be the steward for a time.

AFTERWARDS:  A little more research is still required to fully support all the connections of the Matthew's family line, though the connection seems probable.

 

 

The American Revolution - Quick as you can say "Jack Robinson"

 

1911 Pocket Watch of John Robinson

There’s an old expression: Quick as you can say ‘Jack Robinson.’ Its exact origin is uncertain, but it appears at least as early as 1778 in Frances Burney’s novel Evelina. It has always meant simply: “very quickly.” And such were the events of the American Revolution. From the first shots fired in April 1775 to the far‑flung states declaring their independence through the Continental Congress, only a short year and three months had passed.

The United States was on its way to nationhood as quick as you can say "Jack Robinson."

As you may know “Jack” and “John” are really the same name. Jack grew out of a Middle English habit of adding ‑kin to names to make them affectionate or diminutive — a bit like saying “little John” or “dear John.” You still hear that old suffix in nursery rhymes like “Where is Thumbkin?” And it’s not far from the way modern Spanish adds ‑ito or ‑ita to soften or miniaturize a word.

Over time, the spoken diminutive John‑kin shifted in pronunciation and spelling as people wrote it the way they heard it. The path looks something like this: John → Johnkin / Jonkin → Jankin → Jackin → Jack

So, that brings me to John Robinson, my fifth great-grandfather. I discovered the Robinsons in my family tree fairly recently as I traced a clue left by a single piece of paper stating that my well-established 3rd great-grandfather, James Terry, was first married to a Sarah Roberton or Robinson. I was eventually able to prove that it was actually Robinson and that she and James were connected by Wills to the Robinsons whose well-heeled family came from Hewick Plantation.

John is recognized by the Sons of the American Revolution (SAR) as a patriot. John was living in Amherst, VA during the conflict. He was in his late 30s when independence was declared, but there is no evidence he went off to war. He did, however, submit to Virginia's taxation to support the American war effort in 1782.

John was flanked by two other of my ancestors that are considered patriots. John's father, William I, and his son, William II. John's father provided beef and blacksmith work (probably actually performed by plantation workers) for the Virginia militia. He was reported by SAR to have been an "Adjutant of the 9th Virginia Regiment and later annexed to the 5th Virginia Regiment." At the time of the Revolution William I was sixty-seven years old.  His post as Adjunct was probably more honorary than functional with a focus on raising any necessary defense in his Urbanna community. At least one of William I's brothers, Beverley, chose to remain loyal to Britain. And as quick as you can say "Jack Robinson" the family was split like the British / American bond.

John's son, William II, was also a patriot. He was a Lieutenant during the Revolutionary war, serving with Capt. Givings and Col. Huggart. He marched from Augusta County Va. when Lord Cornwallis came to Virginia, and Tarleton plundered Charlottesville, to Albemarle, then variously through the Country. During the war he apparently met a saddler named Thomas Terry. Thomas, one of my fourth great grandfathers, had sons and William had daughters and quick as you can say Jack Robinson - a family alliance was formed as four of Thomas's sons married four of William's daughters.

Well, John Robinson shows up everywhere. As I draw this blog to a close - My wife's grandfather was also named John Robinson and his uncle was named John Robinson.  This last John Robinson owned a pocket watch purchased in 1911 - which my wife and I have come into possession of.

Now quick as you can say "Jack Robinson" - this story of a family of patriots is done.

AFTERWARDS: The two Williams here were not named with the suffix I and II, but I used them here to help keep them distinguished from each other in the blog.

American Revolution - A Family Affair

 

Minutemen who fought at Lexington

In thinking about the American Revolution that will culminate in a celebration of our 250th Anniversary on 4 July 2026, I became aware of my family ties to the revolution, but also how closely related the participants were.

The Memorial to the Lexington Minutemen lists seventy-eight individuals. Col Parker, who led the minutemen at Lexington is thought to have had one hundred and thirty-four men. Those men are identified at this LINK. 

Of the names on the list, I seem to be cousins or nephews of just over half of Parker's Minutemen.  Some of them are not particularly close relatives. For example: Daniel Mason is my seventeenth cousin ten times removed - if we believe the genealogy that well.  According to the shared tree of Wikitree, Daniel and I share a grandmother, Adeline de Montfort, who was born in the 11th Century in France. 

However, some are very close relatives.  In fact, four of them are uncles. Two of them are fourth great uncles, Solomon Brown and James Brown. Solomon and James were brothers of my fourth great grandfather, Oliver, who my father, grandfather, great aunt, and probably great-grandmother used to get into the Sons or Daughters of the American Revolution. (Oliver and Solomon have been mentioned in other blogs about the revolution I have done.) The other two, Nathan and Hammond Reed are fifth great uncles. It is no surprise, though, because, Nathan and Hammond are Oliver, Solomon, and James' uncles (Brothers of their mother, Sarah).

I have four first cousins in the mix, Francis and John Brown and Nathan and Thaddeus Reed. Francis, who served as a Sergeant, was wounded at Lexington.  He was hit by a musket ball that entered his cheek and lodged in his neck. Despite the injury he commanded the company in 1776 and lived twenty-five more years. John was killed on that day while attempting to flee the Lexington Grounds.

In Parker's company, I have fourteen second cousins.  One of them, Isaac Muzzy gave his life on the Green during the first shots of the Revolution and another, Joseph Comee, was wounded in the arm near the town's powder magazine not far from where fourth cousin, Caleb Harrington, was killed. Third cousin, Joseph Simonds, retreated back into the magazine and was ready to ignite the gunpowder with his flintlock if the British Regulars entered.

In total there were over 60 men in Col. Parker's minutemen of whom I am fourth cousins or closer. Quite simply this is because most of the people in the region during years leading up to the Revolution were closely related. So, if you are descended from one you are closely related to all.

We often think of the Battles of Lexington and Concord in romantic or idealistic ways.  The truth is that it was messy and it was a disaster for the British, because they initiated something they were trying to prevent.  It was a tragedy for the people of Lexington and Concord - because many of their relatives and friends died on that bloody Spring day. 

Spring Day at the North Bridge at Concord

The Revolution didn’t begin with glory—it began with confusion, fear, grief, and the loss of people who were deeply loved. But from that messy, tragic morning emerged a nation that would grow into something far larger than any of them could have imagined. And perhaps the best way to honor them, especially on the 250th anniversary, is to remember them not as symbols but as real people whose lives—and deaths—still ripple outward into our own.

Adventures in Latin America

Alausí, Ecuador in March 2023

I was recently reminded of an event that occurred while I was in Ecuador in March of 2023.  I had been participating in a Christian youth camp in the town of La Maná.  I was with a couple of other workers (Rick and DeAnna) there that wanted to visit Cuenca.  None of us had visited it before so we traveled there.  Once we had taken Cuenca in, we began our trek back to Quito from which we would take a plane back home.

It was March and the weather had been very rainy. Our return from Quito took us through the small Andean village of Alausi from which we would take the Panamerican Highway back to Quito.

Alausí is in a valley that hugs some steep mountain slopes. These slopes have deep ravines and unstable volcanic soils.  With the record rains the region was experiencing that month a disaster was in the making.

When we approached Alausí we encountered a partially blockaded road with a warning sign - but no clear detour other than to return to where we had been.  Rick, who spent his youth in Ecuador (and therefore our expert) urged DeAnna, who was driving at the time, to continue through it.  The town was close by.  So, we did. We saw the road to the town but decided to proceed as everything still looked fine.  Suddenly we were blocked by a small landslide that had earlier covered over the road.

Makeshift Road around Landslide

There was a makeshift road downslope from edge of the landslide, so we drove down to look at it. Upon inspection we determined it was only fit for motorcycles and high clearance off road vehicles.  We turned around and headed into the town.

Rick talked to some of the locals and discovered that not only was the road impassable, but the alternative route through the town to the Panamerican Highway was blocked by a protest. Locals had decided to use the landslide as a way to express their grievances about insufficient infrastructure from the government.  There was a path to the Panamerican, but it would be an adventure.

We decided to get a bite to eat in a restaurant that was open in the town before we set out on this two-hour detour.  It wasn't a place we would have chosen normally, but it was open. We had some pollo y papas fritas. It was acceptable but not particularly good.

We got back in the car and Rick took the wheel. We followed the instructions to take a winding gravel road over a mountain on to Guamote.  We drove about fifteen minutes and encountered a fork in the road.  We took one of the forks.  It led us back into the town.  So we returned to the road and took it back to the fork then we took the other one.

The trip was nearly two hours long.  The path was foggy with frequent light rain.  Streams of water washed down the road on one side or the other, occasionally snaking across the road in small, but crossable creeks. Cars and trucks were inching past each other as we all competed to make a one lane gravel path a two-lane thoroughfare. 

If front of us were locals who had procured a taxi to evacuate Alausí.  Every few hundred meters they would get out of the taxi and walk behind it as it inched ahead.  Apparently, they feared he would careen over the side of mountain.

For us, Rick drove slowly and intently.  I looked over the edge to assure his tires would remain on the road. DeAnna was our prayer warrior from the back seat.

When we arrived at the Panamerican Highway, we stopped for a restroom break and to refuel.  I took over the driving the remainder of the way to our hotel near the Quito airport. 

We thought our adventures were over. They were, but later the next day we learned that the small landslide had grown into a large landslide a short eighteen hours after our time there.  It filled the stadium in Alausí (which is visible in the first image). Where we had been was now under the mountain.  Even today, three years later, they have not found all the victims, and it remains dangerously unstable.

It was certainly an adventure the three of us will never forget!

AFTERWARD: There are links for videos hyperlinked to to some of the text above.